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Prologue
Mason
Present Day
The abandoned warehouse of the Black Widow MC loomed before me. It's broken windows and peeling paint showed it's age. The old repair shop sign had faded away from the bright sun. The rows of Harleys in the front was same as it was thirty years ago. This club had been my entire life and I'd finally given it up.
Being the President of the Black Widow MC was no easy task. The amount of blood on my hands would never be washed away. The things I did in the name of my brothers would never be forgotten. And the amount of whores I emptied my balls into could never fill the void. Stepping down lifted a huge burden off my shoulders but I didn't know what to do with the rest of my time. The club was all I knew.
Caleb was the new President now and he'd do a fine job. He was smart, strong, and above all else—willing to do whatever it took. But I could see the anguish on his face. Caleb was being slowly destroyed from the inside out. He was about to make the same mistake I made all those years ago. “Take my advice, Caleb, don't be like me and let the girl of your dreams pass you by. You're hardwired to fuck and forget but you don't want to be my age and wishing you did something different,” I told him.
Caleb didn't have to give his life to the MC. He could be President and find happiness. But only if he could get past his deep-rooted ideas of what it means to be a biker.
I stared up at the motorcycle club, it's white banner with Black Widow written all over it flapping in the wind. My mind returned to the good ol' days when the warehouse was a motorcycle repair shop. We weren't really good at fixing customer's bikes—we could barely fix our own. But it was ours and we loved it.
I remembered spending my days in the hot sun, drinking a cold beer, oil and grease all over my face. It couldn't get much better than that.
The repair shop didn't last very long after Cash was gunned down. He was always the best with numbers. We almost lost the entire warehouse but a few threatening words with the landlord made us able to keep the place even though we weren't running a business anymore. I always had plans to reopen the repair shop but never got around to it. Real club business always got in the way.
When Blaze first brought up the idea of a MC in high school, we all thought he was crazy. Most of us didn't even own motorcycles or even have our drivers license. But he was our fearless leader and we would have followed him into the depths of hell.
I walked into the warehouse and the place was bustling with people. The MC was never this busy back in the day. No other chapters. Just the Sacks County MC. Coal used to sling drinks behind the bar and E-Z knew how to consume them. Cash was always in the office staring at financial documents behind his spectacles.
We had a good thing going until Claire came into my life. And everything changed. Her long, curly dark hair with blue eyes could bring any man down to their knees. My mind was lost in a fog of emotions. My club meant everything to me and Claire threatened it all. I always regretted letting her go and I couldn't let Caleb make the same decision. If he had a chance to live a normal life, he had to go for it.
The meeting room was empty when I entered. My fingers traced over the gavel at the head of the table. The long wooden table dominated the room with a black widow spider carved into it. It took Tater months to finish the thing. I sat down in my seat, the chair creaking with age. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I'd made so many decisions in this room over the years. Some bad and some good. Blaze used to sit in here all day, dreaming about ways to take the club to the next level. But now it was Caleb's domain. His turn to steer the club in the direction he thought best.
I looked up at the row of pictures framed on the wall of our fallen brothers. There were too many pictures. We'd lost so many over the years. So many under my watch. Did I do a good enough job? We're those lives lost under my rule in vain? My eyes began to tear up and my throat choked.
I never meant to be President. I wasn't meant for all the pressure and responsibility. If Blaze was still around, my life would have been entirely different. We might not have lost so many men. There would have been a lot fewer sleepless nights.
I kissed two fingers and placed them on Blaze's photo. “Rest in peace, buddy. Hope you're giving God hell up there.”
I left the MC and hopped on my old Harley. The thing was still kicking after all these years. Kind of like me. Now it was time to begin the next chapter.
Chapter One
Mason
1986
My Harley roared underneath me as I shifted into gear and chased the group of Death Merchants. Coal and Tank were close behind, forming a V formation. I looked behind to see Tank with the biggest grin behind his bushy mustache. We lived for this. The Mexicans were in our territory and we had them on the run.
Sunday morning meant a lot of church traffic: old and slow drivers. The sun was barely overhead but the heat was already burning my leather cut. It was going to be another scorcher in the desert today. We swerved in and out of cars, the Mexicans not far ahead. They didn't dare fire on us with so many civilians around. Cars honked at us as we passed by and I returned their kindness by knocking their side mirrors off. The Black Widows owned these roads and this town needed to give us a little more respect. We were trying to clean their streets after all.
At a four-way intersection the Mexicans split up. I signaled to Coal and Tank and they knew what to do. I took the two Mexicans that made a right turn and followed them down Main Street. The church was at the end and the traffic was jammed. That didn't stop The Death Merchants. They popped onto the sidewalk and sped past pedestrians. Innocents could get seriously hurt but I had to follow them.
We zoomed past the storefront windows, the wind flicking back my long hair. My grip on my handlebars tightened like I was stroking my cock to finish. Old women in their Sunday best dived out of the way,spilling coffee all over their flowery dresses. The Mexicans turned the corner and onto an empty street. I followed, whipping out my Remington 1911 handgun and firing a couple shots. I wouldn't be able to hit a weaving target at this range but I wanted them to know I was close on their asses.
The two Death Merchants split up and I trailed the one that hit the dirt road. My bike bounced up and down over the bumps, the dust hitting my face from the motorcycle ahead of me. I shot a few more times, hoping for a miracle.
His back tire burst with my last shot and he went fishtailing, crashing into the bushes. My bike came to a skid at the Mexican's motorcycle but he was nowhere to be found. He couldn't have gotten far. I got off my hog and checked the magazine in my Remington—only three bullets left. More than enough to end this fucking wetback.
Before I could pop the magazine back in, the Mexican charged at me from the brush. The collision knocked me to the ground, sending my pistol and loose magazine soaring far away. I balled my hand into a fist and pummeled into his ribs, crunching bone. The motherfucker cursed at me in Spanish, holding his side. I kicked him off me and quickly got to my feet. I connected my boot to his face and he instantly shut up.
I went through his pockets as he writhed on the ground. Just a few dollars and change. He didn't even have a gun on him which reaffirmed our thoughts that The Death Merchants didn't even have the money for weapons. They weren't ready to play with the big boys yet.
I lifted the bloody wetback up and put him on his knees. His leather cut had the name Garcia and the symbol of Death with a scythe was on the back. “You boys dare come into our town and don't even bring guns. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
The Mexican looked back at me with furious eyes. He spat at me, his spit narrowly missing my face and hitting my cut. Now he had really done it. Nobody disrespects me and gets away with it.
I brought out my switchblade and the blade sprang out in front of his eyes. “I think I'm going to have a little fun with you before I send you off to meet your maker.”
He cursed at me with some more Spanish. I couldn't und
erstand but I got the gist of it.
“You fuckers can't even speak English?” I grabbed a hold of his leather cut and began slicing. I took off his nameplate and member patch. “Your kind don't deserve to be a motorcycle club.”
The wetback tried to get up and grab me but I kicked him in the ribs and he doubled over, howling in pain.
“I'm going to leave you a gift to remember me by. Whenever you look in the mirror, you'll know that Sacks County is off-limits to your kind.”
I squeezed his face between my fingers and let my blade run down his forehead and across his left eye. His screams were lost in the wind as I carved up his face. He passed out as soon as I finished, falling over into the dirt. I stepped on his chest with my boot for good measure. I wiped my bloody hands on his jeans and safely stowed my switchblade in my back pocket. It would be a waste to kill him now. He was a work of art. The Mexicans would think twice about coming back into Sacks when they saw his fucked-up face.
Police sirens wailed off in the distance. My gunshots from earlier must have tipped them off. Didn't matter much. I was already done here. I collected my Remington from the dirt and put it in the back of my waistband. The Mexican lay in the desert, the sun baking him. He was going to be a sunburnt bean in an hour. I spit on him before going back to my motorcycle.
I swung my leg over my bike and strapped my helmet on. I wished I could take a picture of this scene and put it up on the wall. There was so much blood and dirt that had mixed into mud. I stepped down on the ignition and my bike came to life under me. The law was getting closer but they'd never find me. I knew this town better than the cops.
I returned to the MC to find Coal and Tank's bikes already parked outside along with the rest. Good thing they got back safe. A few of the prospects were working in the repair shop as I walked by. We didn't have very many customers these days but Cash assured us that things would turn around.
I strolled into the clubhouse and found the place crawling with people. Iron Maiden's “Aces High” was playing in the background. It was barely noon and the party was already in full swing. Drinks were flowing and half-naked sluts had their arms around every guy.
“Holy fuck, Mason! We were wondering where you were.” Coal came through the crowd and embraced me. His shaved head reminded me of a cue ball. A stark contrast to all our long hair. “Shit! You smell like a dead Mexican.”
“An almost dead Mexican. I left him a few scars. The wetbacks will think twice before coming back into our town. You guys get any?”
Tank came over and slapped me on the back. “We chased the wetbacks until the law got on our tail. We barely escaped. The Prez will want to hear what you did.”
I nodded. “I'll tell him soon. I need to take a shower first and wash this stench off me. Then maybe I got a date with Coal's mom. She called me and said her giant tits needed to be milked.”
Tank fell over laughing. Coal grit his teeth and clenched his fists. His mom was a fucking knockout and each one of would kill to bury our cocks inside her. “You better take that back, Mason. I'm going to have to rearrange that pretty face of yours.”
I dodged behind Tank's huge body, using him as a shield to avoid Coal's blows. I escaped through the crowd of people and made it to the bar. Tater slid me a beer and gave me a nod. I took a sip and my body relaxed instantly. I turned around and surveyed the room. There was a flood of wet pussy in here. My fiery balls were begging to be drained. Any one of these chicks would do. The feel of their lips around my cock, sucking the cum right down their throats. I was tempted to sling a slut over my back and carry her to my room. But first I needed a shower to wash off all that Mexican blood.
Chapter Two
Claire
Class ended early when the professor made some excuse about having to go to the doctor. He probably was going to office to screw one of his assistants. Why was I paying so much for college when even the teachers didn't want to be there? I collected my heavy books and left, dreading the four-hour wait until my next class started.
I walked across the large green lawn with students sunbathing on towels. This was a school not a beach. Did these girls come to class wearing skimpy bikini's or did they bring them in their backpacks? They probably weren't even enrolled in classes here. I sat down on the edge of a planter and went over my notes for my next class: Algebra 101. I thought I could avoid math when I got to college but it turned out to be a requirement for my major.
I wanted to become a physical therapist to help people get back on their feet. The salary for entry positions were high so that couldn't hurt either. I had already done forty hours or so of volunteer work and loved it so far. Maybe I could finally move away and get out from under Byron's thumb.
My parents died when I was too young to remember and I was adopted by a nice black family. All I remember them telling me was that they died in a car crash. I'd later find out that they were shot and killed coming out of a convenience store. Who the fuck goes and shoots up a convenience store? They barely hold any cash.
It was a little weird at first, being the only white person in the house but I got used to it fairly quickly. My adopted parents were so nice to me. My adopted brother Byron was only a few years older than me and he acted like a true big brother. The only problem was he got more and more protective as we grew up. He'd go as far as preventing me from dating, telling boys in high school that he'd shoot them up. Hell, I didn't even get to go to my senior prom because Byron scared my date into bailing on me. The funny thing was, back then, Byron didn't even own a gun. He was all talk. Nobody wanted to mess with a big black man. Especially me.
“Claire, you need to stop studying!” a voice yelled from far away.
I looked up from my notes to see Heather bouncing to me, wearing nothing but a gold bikini. Her blonde short hair looked golden in the sunlight. I'd die to trade her my boring brown hair. Heather had been one of my best friends in high school and we both went off to the same college. After awhile though, our interests kind of grew in different directions. I was more into school work and Heather was more into getting laid every day of the week. This was supposed to be the time we figured out who we were and what we wanted to do with the rest of our lives. Not how many dicks can I fit in my pussy.
“I can't stop, there might be a pop quiz today.”
Heather plopped down next to me, stretching and yawning. “You need to relax a bit. Every time I see you, you're stressed out to the max. You're going to blow a gasket if you don't take care of yourself. Lay off the books for a moment and take in all the surroundings.” Heather kicked her tanned legs out like she was a little girl.
I rolled my eyes at her. Heather always knew how to blow things out of proportion. “How can you wear a bikini around school?” I asked, trying to change the subject. Heather's boobs were almost falling out of her top. I'd be worried constantly that a nipple would slip out.
Heather looked down at her outfit and fixed her bikini top so her tits didn't flop out. “If you hadn't noticed, Claire, it's a hundred degrees out. Plus the boys can't stop staring. You should really try showing some more skin. The guys would love to get a glimpse at those big knockers of yours. I don't know why you keep them covered up so much.”
I blushed, looking down at my baggy t-shirt. My breasts had developed at an early age and I was pretty self-conscious about how big they were. Girls in junior high used to make fun of me in the locker room all the time. Add on the constant back strain and it was no wonder I didn't feel like flaunting them around like Heather.
Heather slapped my jeans, laughing. “There's a big party tonight at some frat house tonight. I only got an invite because I know a guy that knows a guy. I'm allowed to bring someone and I thought it'd be fun if you came with.”
I shook my head immediately. “Not my kind of thing, Heather.” She always knows a guy that knows a guy. She probably slept with both of them.
Heather draped her arm around me and made those puppy-dog eyes. “Oh pretty, pretty please, Claire.
There's going to be so many hot guys. We can finally find you a man.”
“I don't need a man,” I replied, turning my attention back to my notes.
Heather grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “You frustrate me so much, Claire. You're so sexy and can get any guy you want. Yet you do nothing about it.”
My baggy shirt and loose jeans deemed otherwise. “So not true, Heather. I've never even been asked out by a guy before.”
Heather looked me straight in the eyes. “That's because you never put yourself out there. How can anyone ask you out when your head is stuck in a book? Come to the party tonight and I'll show you.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head, hoping that Heather would just vanish. I really needed to get back to studying. If there was a pop quiz in Algebra, I was going to be screwed.
Heather leaned over and whispered in my ear, “John is going to be there.”
Havoc: A MC Romance Page 25